


All His Memories & All His Pain

by AkitheShinigami



Category: Deadpool (2016), Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: (who knows when tho), AU, Breaking the Fourth Wall, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sexual Content, probably some violence, reader is female
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 02:53:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6405838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkitheShinigami/pseuds/AkitheShinigami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most stories, they start at the beginning. They introduce you to the stars of the horror show that is life and then move along to whatever plot the writer of the week has cooked up in their bedroom at 5 AM...but this has been narrated by yours truly and starting off at the beginning is boring.</p><p>So I'm Wade Winston Wilson. Happily married for three years, too. Best woman I'd ever known and ever took an arrow to the knee for.</p><p>...So why is it the best three years of my entire, miserable life were stolen from me?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginnings (Kind of)

Hey there. Thanks for clicking on this story on a shitty website involving a shitton of fanfiction. I'm telling you, I'd ask why my story would even be on here, when I could be somewhere else, on a more "art-geared" community, but if this is what the internet people live off of, I'll take what I can get. Getting something is better than nothing, right?

 

Anyways. I should probably stop breaking the fourth wall and get on with things.

 

As you already know, I'm Wade Winston Wilson. Merc with a Mouth. A lot of other nicknames. Deadpool. The latter is where I'm best known, but you'd already know this from my newest movie. (It was awesome, by the way. Go see it if you haven't already, shithead!) I'm a pretty well-known guy... Mostly because I'm an asshole and being a well-known asshole works out pretty well in the long run, if you're me. Not all the time, since I still get my moments of hell, but... C'est vie, right? Life goes on?

 

...Man, fuck that shit. Burn in it a pile where the rest of my goddamned life went to hell, because life sure goes on, but it's a fucking piece of shit for doing so. It's fucked me up plenty of times, but recently, it's all been on a downturn for me. (I almost put "downturd" there and honestly, it has the same meaning either way.) It's just that other piece of life where you remark how life surely can't get any worse, but then good ol' Murphy comes a knocking and kicks you in the cock, saying that he ain't even _half_ done fucking up your already miserable life.

 

That's what happened to me and my wife.

Oh sure, I'm incredibly aware of the multiple other universes where I got married to some hot piece of work or the other, for some reason or fifty others. Hell, I had a few ladies 'round my time this side of the coin. Few guys, too. Nothing as serious as marriage up until her, but all surely noteworthy. My wife was simply one of them...but more than any other. That's why we got hitched, after all. ...Why I still have a daughter I'm struggling to face.

 

...You just kinda realize, after a death, how hard shit is. I look at that beautiful little girl and I wonder how she's ever mine. She's got these bright ol' eyes and I just look at her and bawl. I can kinda see it, sure. She's got some of my face mixed in with her mom's. Got her momma's lovely hair and my eyes, even if sometimes I forget the color, I look at her and remember right away. It was easier, when my wife was around. She was there to remind me that even though I'm a walking, talking, fucked up piece of pepperoni, I helped make this gorgeous girl who's gonna break hearts all over with that giggle and bright, darling smile....

 

 

There's all these memories in my head of us. Of first meetings and references to pop culture shit that I sit here and still chuckle about in the ratty old chair she didn't want to give up because of some dumb emotional attachment. I think it belonged to her grandparents or something. Of sexual encounters that were both passionate and kinda fucked up...but damn, she was willing to try and that meant more to me than anything else anyone could've given me.

 

That woman looked me in the eyes and smiled, despite my fugly ass appearance. She mapped every bit of it with her fingertips, learning each bit of it, until her touch scarred me more than the actual results of my mutation had. Goddamn-- This woman _cried_ over me when we got together and learned of the horrible nature of my job. Eh, I was already used to exploding into bits, but she sure wasn't and that shit touched my heart like an angel's caress on a kitten's fur. After awhile, nobody cares what happened to you in my line of work. You blew up to smithereens? Eh, could've done better. I tell my then-girlfriend? Well, once she got used to my insanely useful healing factor, she found it pretty interesting! Yeah, she still whined a bit about her concerns for me, but after awhile, she started making jabs about painting with my blood... There was a joke once about "Three and a Half Men" with some corpses I'd snapped and **damn** did I appreciate that one.

 

Still waiting to use it for myself, someday.

 

Thinking about turning this into a series, yanno? Not likely that anyone would read it, but I have some shit to throw out there onto the internet. Besides! Some lonely chick on the internet could rip this off of me and call it "fanfiction" thereby turning my sorrows into comedy and amusement of other horny young ladies to dig into like a Thanksgiving meal...with an excess of meat. My meat, basically. (Actually, there might be too much schlong for you all to handle, so we'll have to turn it down in the end, before I turn even my own story into an R-rated movie. Still digging that I got the role as myself, by the way.)

 

 

.....Damn though. Have I already mentioned that I missing the best three years of my life? Because it's due time we get back on that train of thought so I can tell you all where three years of my life was dedicated...and how despite everything, I don't regret a thing. I'd do it all over again, with even more enthusiasm than when we'd first gone about it all.

Besides, maybe then she wouldn't have died. Maybe then I wouldn't have felt like it was my fault she wasted away and that some delight of a girl has to live on with a mom who won't be there anymore and a dad who's not only ugly as hell could make 'im, but is overall a horrible man of a dad to boot. Definitely not deserving of those "#1 Dad" cups she sends me every holiday from her auntie's house... (Got a rainbow of them now. Sent a picture and she was tickled pink over that. Heard she's gonna try to make me a mug all by herself. What did I ever do to deserve that girl...?)


	2. We Talk About a Falsified "Beginning"

Almost was tempted to start rambling about a community of deviant, rabid artists only to hit the realization that I still have a story to tell to pander to internet fangirls. (I hear I have hundreds of them. Hundreds! I can't believe my stanky ass is so desirable... Damn. I hope I'm dominating the market right now, since I'm not dominating much else right now. Well, aside from my hand and my dick? There's that kind of domination, but I don't think that's kinky enough for you people.) Why not do that then, I asked myself?

 

 

So anywho! I wanted to start off where I originally wanted to, before memory lane turned into a sob-fest fit for me to row, row, row my boat down. Nice little river of salty tears to bathe in. Etc.

 

I was watching an old tape I'd made. See, she'd always wanted to host a sort of memory-film series that we'd own. Family shit and all. Like if that one movie about video sex went right, but almost better. It was one of the handful we'd made of our life, but damn did it kill me... Kind of like an arrow straight to my chest at point-blank range. Then, you know,  being disintegrating into ashes and tossed to the winds. All the good stuff in life.

 

It was some cheesy, slice-of-life thing, but, uh... Lemme see if I can just start this over and you can watch it with me..... Aha! There we are.

 

See? There she is. I, of course, am the amazing cameraman. With skills like mine, I could totally grab at a certain spider's job, I'm telling you. She was trying to cook, but, heh, I just felt like recording that day... Nothing got burned, though! Can't say the same for a lot of people I know or knew, but... Hey, what can you do? I haven't been much of a hero anyways.

It was kinda cute when she thought of me as one, though. Probably the only person I'd want to be a hero for... Her and my daughter. As long as I'm _their_ hero, fuck everyone else with a bullet up their ass.

 

Oh, and here's the part where I kissed her!! Fucking damn, look at her dorky-ass grin. See?! Look at this, she's even blushing!! Ahh, shit... I don't know what I ever fucking did to deserve her. I mean, look at that look her in her eyes. Any other bloke could've gotten this beauty and somehow, she hit the bottom of the barrel, somewhere right past Will Ferrel. And she hit it good, honestly. Very firm hand, real good in the bedroom.

 

....Hey, almost forgot this part somehow... Got a tad giddy here, so I just... Yeah, put the camera down on the table. Wish I had pre-planned here, since you can't see a lot. Well, hey! It might be for the better. There's only so many times one can look at this mug without feeling queasy. Hey, I admit it! Once, twice... Over the span of multiple comic series and a movie. (There's also my cameo in another that we don't ever talk about, thank you!)

 

Wait, wait wait!! Okay, look at how cute she is, though. Not only did she have the best ass, but look at those legs!! I could pick her up so easily! And listen to that laugh.... It's kinda funny that way, when you've got all these love stories and cutesy love quotes talking about how "it's like walking on air" or "falling through the sky at maximum speed because you can't stand on a cloud, dipshit", but then there's somebody who waltzes into your life and even if they're not there permanently, they make you feel that way anyways, for as long as they're around. You might outgrow it, you might be the few lucky ones to sit around in lover's bliss for as long as life doesn't want to be a dickerdoodle.

The end point is some wonderful person slides into your life on some smooth jazz tunes and turns life into a cheesy romance novel, with even more cheese because that's often where the stomach takes ya, if you're feeling me there. (No, no, little lower... Bingo. Right where the beer belly would be, if I was allowed to have one.) But hey, when you get a gem like that, life likes to fuck it up somehow. Like, if Jem and the Holograms had more holograms. Once that life-like image is gone, it's gone. There's no other person behind the alter identity, there's just nothing of them and they took a chunk of you too.

 

....I could say it could be worse, but it really can't get any better. At least I can heal from physical pain and crack a few jokes about it. Hell, I'm _armed_ with arm jokes right now. A ton of them! It only goes to figure that a healing factor doesn't include the mental aspect of it all. Trust me, I think I'd be a lot better off like that. Regenerate and have no issues...

 

That still leaves my goofball of a daughter out in the cold to why her dad doesn't remember her, though. Dammit, I can't be selfish like that, much as I'd like to. Can't do shit cause I look up and I'll see some picture of when she was first born and my wife's got her all snug up in this red and black blanket... That one sits on top of the bookshelf near the kitchen. There's also some date photos up there and a few selfies of me without my mask or a hood. (Photographers were never ready to snap a picture of this hot mess.)

Honestly, she died not long after the little kiddo was born. Everything she knows is based off of what I and her auntie tell her. I don't think I'm the best storyteller of the two of us, honestly. Have something to do with emotions being stabbed into my eye-sockets....

 

Or were those pocketknives I jammed in there after I left? I'm not sure anymore. Might've been the knives, though. It was dark for awhile, but I was in _stab-le_ condition. Haha. Jokes.

 

..............................

 

In other news, the video ended. I think I stopped it because I was getting blue balls from working damn near all the time to make some money to offer some support to them, so I decided to forgo the sex tape that day and just pounce her bones. Was I feeling bonely? A little, sure....but damn, did I have an extra bone that day. HA! Hahah.

 

 

This is just depressing now. I'm going to hunt down Thunder Pants and see if he's got any more of that one thing he totally gifted unto me. That's Asgardian shit was one of few things to get me drunk for a bit and dammit, I need it again. Daddy Deaddie is having a bad lifetime here, this side of the gold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thinking about making a playlist for this... Especially since I might actually write more for this?? It's probably too early to say, but there's already a possible "second season" for this in my head that I might plot out. It all depends on the success of this story and if people would even want that.
> 
> (Deadpool himself is looking pretty forward to it, but he's also struggling to wonder if it's for the best...and if it'd make him any cash to go for it.)


End file.
